Moms

I despair that I may be one of these creatures one day soon. My own mother left last week after a 6 day visit, and of course what better thing to do than blog about it? It does pain me to think that my own children will one day moan to their friends about me, yet here I am, too cool for my own mom. Oh, how the worm will turn.

Highlights of her trip include:

1) Her loud proclamation whilst shopping that I have no ass. I'm not saying that she brought up my asslessness in private later in a moment of mother/daughter bonding over Ben and Jerry's, but rather a boisterous and far too enthusiastic, "Pru, you have no ass at all!" when walking behind me in a public setting. Note to self - always make your mother walk with you or ahead of you so as to avoid any humiliation and much glancing at said flat ass by passers-by.

It gets worse, believe it or not. When countered with my insistence that as the girl that brings new definition to "Whitest person ever" I am not expected to have a budunkadunk, my 55 year old mother says (again, loudly), "I'm a white girl and I've got a big ol' booty." Uh. Yeah. File that in the "Things you never want to hear your mother say" portion of the brain.

2) I was making breakfast one morning and I had the radio on. Usher's "Yeah" came on, and rather than turning it off I endured it just to hear Lil' John say "Yeah" repeatedly just so I could be reminded of Chappelle's Show. Anyway, my mom comes groovin' into the kitchen, dancing in a way she thinks is hip-hop (as interpreted by the painfully unhip nearly-retired crowd), excitedly telling me how much she adores this song. I'm used to this sort of behaviour from her, so I just carried on cooking the bacon. That is...until it happened. She was grinding against an invisible retiree in her imaginary hip hop club for the over 50s and repeating the lyrics - "I want a lady on a street and a freeeak in the bed!" with far too much gusto. The song ended, she sighed with content at her little show, and I was left in the wake too speechless to flip the bacon.

3) In numerous outings with my mom during her trip, I had to put up with pokes and proddings each time a baby or small child would go by. It's as if she needed to remind me that hey - that stomach might turn into one of those things! She doesn't quite get that I'm child ambivalent, lately bordering on the child hating. I will love my child, but I see no point in gushing over the children of others. In my experience, they are mostly brats and I would like them to go away. When I told my mom this, in so many words, she shook her head with the sad recognition that the apple has fallen far, far from the tree.

My mom has been a special ed teacher for nearly 35 years. This is a woman that puts up with children spitting on her, biting her, vomiting on her, swearing at her, tweaking her nipples with glee, and a million other things that would make me chop them up and put them in a barrel. She, on the other hand, loves it. She'll put up with it all with a genuine smile on her face. I admire her immensely, but if you think I'm getting anywhere near that level of sainthood, forget it.

My mom tried very hard to convince me that I would grow maternally and surprise myself. I say, I'll believe it when I see it. Mom said that when your child puts their chubby little hands on your cheeks, cuddles up close, rubs his or her nose against yours and says, "My, you are one cute little fucker", you will be enamoured for life. Those kind words were uttered by one three year old Ms Prufrock to her mother in a moment of tenderness, and if Enid says that to me I will be shocked for a moment, but positively smitten.